On the importance of hands
by Fezzes
Summary: Life is made up of hands, even though we hardly ever pay attention to it.


**On the importance of hands**

This is a short little something I wrote in the aftermath of the long awaited confirmation of 'Darvey' at the end of episode 8.16. I have always been a sucker for the symbolism of hands and the way the scene was filmed with an extra emphasis on their hands just spoke to me. And in order to prevent a Darvey fanfiction hangover –because until now, most fanfics revolve about Harvey and Donna finally getting their shit together and now they are canon anyways– I decided to write this little piece. I hope you like it. As you may know, I'm not a native English speaker; in fact I haven't had English classes for as long as Harvey and Donna have known each other, so I don't mind being given a heads up about grammar mistakes and the likes so I may fix it. Reviews are greatly appreciated, too.

Disclaimer: I do not own Suits or its characters.

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_Life is made up of hands, even though we hardly ever pay attention to it. We were born into gentle hands that caught us and handed us into our mothers' loving first embrace. Hands held us, guided us, fed us and cared for us as we grew – until our hands learned to hold and to guide others, how to touch and caress someone else in the most loving of ways. Life is about finding the hand that we hope will one day hold ours gently as we pass on from this world, but it took me the longest time to realize this._

Your hands were the third thing I noticed about you. On the first glance it was your bright inquisitive eyes and then your fiery hair, but the surprisingly firm grip of your soft feminine hand as you introduced yourself to me I remember vividly.

Over the many years we worked together the touch of your hands became comfortingly familiar in the way pens or papers were handed over or taken from mine, your deft fingers expertly correcting crooked ties or reattaching missing buttons to my favorite suit jacket. Only sometimes my mind would wander to that one time those same hands were splayed on my naked back, fingers sticky from whipped cream, holding on tightly as we rode out waves of pleasure in the sanctuary of your bedroom.

At first I didn't notice how we stopped touching each other even though our work dynamic remained the same – until you walked away, leaving me with a craving I could not even put a label on.

Even when you returned your touch was woefully absent and today I wonder if this was your way of keeping a safe distance between us. I sometimes ask myself if you have the same pleasant memories of my hand's touch and if you ever missed it.

As our touches became rare occurrences, those few moments where your hand found mine felt uplifting and powerful. The way our fingers interlocked on the night Jessica left the firm and you stood by me in silence, conveying your support in nothing but a firm pressure of your hand in mine. I started dreaming of you then. Sometimes the Donna in my dreams would softly cup my face with her hands as we kissed.

I remember the way you threw me for a loop the night you out of the blue kissed me in your office. Your hands didn't roam – not in the way I remember in my dreams – I remember they were firmly planted on the lapels of my suit jacket before you softly pushed yourself away from me and left me alone with my jumbled thoughts.

Even though we fought heavily after this kiss, it marked a turning point where touching was suddenly okay once more. Fingers accidentally brushing as they handed out tumblers filled with scotch, feeling your warm hand on my shoulder as we walked arm in arm towards the elevators to get drinks or down the aisle of our best friends' wedding. I remember your hand pulling me towards the dancefloor later that night and the pleasant feeling of your warm skin beneath my hand on your back as we danced the night away.

You have always been very expressive with your hands. I don't know if you ever noticed, but the more upset or angry you are, the more your hands move while you speak as if trying to put extra support on the message you are trying to convey. There is a special way your hands move while you walk, softly sashaying forward and back in a constant rhythm. I don't know why it is your hands I pay attention to more than others.

For the longest time I was ignorant to why it hurt so much to see you with someone else, to imagine another man's hands caressing your skin or holding you close. I tried to put your happiness before mine, but in the end I had to admit that I was lying to myself all the while. I knew I loved you, but until recently I didn't know what it meant.

When I finally did, no words needed to be spoken. I don't know what you saw in my face when you opened your door, but you invited me in with your eyes and all I could think of was that I wanted to touch you, feel you and kiss you. I remember our hands pulling and pushing at each other for a few intense moments as our lips met in a desperate duel. Our eyes locked just for a short moment as our fingers intertwined in a strong and powerful grip. It told me that finally, we were both on the same page at the same time about how we felt. You gave me a mischievous smile before once again grabbing my hand and leading me towards your bedroom. Following your lead was all I could do and I vowed to myself to never again turn my back from this. From you.

It's early in the morning now and the sunlight is slowly creeping through the blinds of your bedroom windows. You are facing me and I watch your relaxed expression as you sleep. One of your hands is stuck somewhere beneath your head with your elbow angled towards me. Your other hand is softly splayed atop that elbow and you look as if you were watching me just before you succumbed to sleep. I contemplate reaching out to caress your bare shoulder, but I decide against it in order to watch you sleep a little longer. I study your hands, still as they are for the time being, and I start to contemplate our future together.

For so long, my biggest goals in life were the handshakes that followed a successful deal so it could be added to the list of accomplishments only the best closer in the city could achieve. But now, after everything that happened in the past year or two I finally realize that this wouldn't be enough. Sharing those victories with you is what made them special. Any memory shared with you is special.

Suddenly I imagined what it would be like to slip a diamond ring on those slender fingers splayed in front of me. Would I one day grip those hands tightly as you brought new life into this world? Would I ever be lucky enough to experience the feeling of a little hand grasping my own for support? To hold and guide and feed and care for a child of our own? Maybe it is too late for us to have this kind of fantasies but I vow to myself not to wait too long to bring them up with you anyways. After all, we have waited for this long enough.

I am pulled from my thought as I notice your eyes on me. Your beautiful face stretches into a smile and I can't help but do the same. This moment is perfect and I wouldn't want to be anywhere else right now and I tell you by once again clasping your hand in a gentle but firm grip.


End file.
